


5 Times Mark Hoffman Was Jealous + 1 Time He Wasn't

by snarkstark



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: AU where they work for the police but Saw doesn't happen - Freeform, Eric and Peter are bros, First Kiss, Five Plus One, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Peter is so loved - Freeform, Strahm is a little shit, jealousy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8802262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkstark/pseuds/snarkstark
Summary: Mark was left, forced to return to his silent sulking, with jealousy pooling in his chest.-In an AU where Saw doesn't take place, Mark Hoffman gets extremely jealous about Peter Strahm until the Agent convinces him that he has no reason to be...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is such an obscure ship that was written for callofthevoid.

1

 

“Jesus, this has gotta be the neatest report I’ve ever seen, Erickson, sir.” Strahm whistled as he scanned through it. He was in an uncharacteristically good mood considering the situation, and Hoffman was watching from a distance, brooding (which really means he was sulking). What the fuck? His own reports were flawless. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t jealous in the slightest, and he proved how not jealous he was by striding past to the coffee machine and making Strahm’s favourite drink. His plan worked when Peter was lured over, slightly hopeful and very suspicious. 

 

“You wish this was for you.”

 

“Asshole. You don’t even take your coffee like that.” Peter knew how he took his coffee. The Hell?

 

“Ass kisser.” 

 

“It was a neat report, shut up Hoffman.”

 

Mark smirked and left, sipping his coffee and shoving his jealousy as far back in his mind as possible. Peter was a dick. An asskissing dick. Totally. Returning to his desk, concentrating on the report he had to give in proved to be a challenge. Erickson was the boss anyway, why the Hell was he asking Strahm to read the damn paper? He was slightly embarrassed about the way he was overreacting to that one compliment from Peter, but that didn’t make him feel any more inclined to not be jealous. 

 

Another distraction was the disgustingly inappropriate way Peter was drinking his coffee - Jesus Christ, did he have to moan like it was the Goddamn Elixir of Life? No. No, was the answer. “Hey, Strahm, wanna try acting like your sexuality isn’t coffee?” He called over, frustrated. Peter clearly didn’t give a fuck. “You wanna make me, Hoffman?” He challenged. It was always a damn challenge with Strahm, he could never shut up or back down. 

 

It was stupidly attractive and Mark hated that fact with a burning passion. 

 

“Focus on the case, Peter.” He snapped, nothing else left to say. It was a pretty gruesome homicide, someone had chopped a woman’s arms and legs off with a cleaver and left little to no evidence. 

 

“Make. Me.” Fucking Hell, this guy. Strahm, when he was in a bad mood, was short tempered and business like, often snappy with the others at the police station. But in a good mood? He was challenging, snarky, and it made Hoffman want to kiss him. “You want me to?”  
“Aw, Mark, we both know that I’m Erickson’s favourite.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a huge kiss ass.” Mark scoffed. 

 

“You jealous?” Peter teased without missing a beat, raising a brow. That struck a nerve, and Hoffman paused. Shit. Too long. 

 

“You wish.”

 

Peter looked at him for a long moment, then raised his coffee too his lips and took a sip. “Don’t you --” Hoffman started, but was completely ignored as Strahm gave out an exaggerated moan. “So good.”

 

“You’re the worst. What the Hell is wrong with you?” 

 

“I’m a little arrogant, easily obsessive, and I’ve even been told I’m an asskisser.” Strahm replied, imitating shock at the last part. 

 

“Yeah, and you’re a sarcastic shit, too.” Hoffman replied, smirking and leaning back, relieved to have managed to keep the fond smile from crossing his face. The station was actually pretty quiet, just the two of them arguing from separate desks on opposite sides of the room. Erickson had retreated to his cosy, private office and everyone else was out on the field still investigating. This, of course, also led to Hoffman’s confusion about Strahm’s mood, since the man lived for active and dangerous work, and loathed to be within three feet of any paperwork.

 

Remembering that he had actual work to return to, Mark looked downwards again and started to type. The report was pretty boring actually; he was wrapping up the old case to file away rather than getting to work on the new one. The office room fell quiet save from the gentle clicks of their respective keyboards. The near silence got on his nerves a little, even if he’d requested it. 

 

As he scanned over his report, he made extra sure to get rid of any mistakes, no matter how insignificant. He couldn’t help but feel a need to impress Strahm - to prove that his reports were better than fucking Erickson’s any day of the week. And okay, maybe he shouldn’t be so eager to please the man that he ‘despised’ but sue him, he was underappreciated as Hell and no one had complimented him properly in a while. “Hey, since you’re a grammar Nazi, read this report.” He ordered Peter lazily, drumming his fingers on the table as he sent the email. 

 

“Lazy bastard, Hoffman.” Strahm replied, but he must have been bored enough to actually do it, because he made a click and his eyes started scanning down the page, slightly narrowed as he searched for any errors. There was a minute of silence, a slight look of surprise crossing Peter’s face as he continued to find not a single mistake to be found. 

 

A smug smirk made it’s way across Mark’s face as he watched with satisfaction, leaning back in his chair and adjusting his shirt cuff. “What d’you think, Petey?” He asked, just to be extra annoying.  
“Don’t call me that, you shit.” The casual swearing was common in their department, as long as they kept it out of public ears and impersonal, it was of no concern to Erickson apparently. Hoffman was actually fond of the words ‘bastard’ and ‘fuck’ because of the careless tone Strahm usually used them with, as if no one should have the time to be offended. 

 

“It’s flawless, no doubt?” He bragged, bringing Strahm’s attention back to the report he’d just painstakingly proofread to the extreme. 

 

“It’s --” Peter started in a tone of resignation, and Mark knew that he would finally be getting his compliment as deserved. 

 

“Strahm! Get in here!” He heard Erickson yell from his office, clearly impatient. Hoffman scowled, jealousy surging back up again when Peter didn’t finish his sentence, didn’t even look at him before pushing his chair back and standing up, stretching his arms over his head. Mark watched his movements, before realising he probably looked like a creep and flicked his gaze back to the computer monitor.

 

“Ass kisser.” He muttered ruefully, and Strahm just shrugged and walked out with the strong stride with which he always carried himself. Mark was left, forced to return to his silent sulking, with jealousy pooling in his chest.

 

2

 

The bar wasn’t crowded that night, a group of blokes were laughing around the pool table, and a gaggle of women were eyeing them from the other side of the room, swirling drinks. 

 

Hoffman sat in silence, pretending to listen to Detective Tapp retell an exciting chase scene through an underground passageway after the killer. He had an exciting scar on his neck as a trophy where the killer tried to attack him, but he was quickly apprehended. Some of the department had agreed to come out for drinks - Tapp and his partner Sing, Erickson and him sat at the bar, nursing drinks. Strahm and his partner Lindsey had yet to arrive. Thinking about Peter when he wasn’t around to be a dick was always a bad idea, but he couldn’t really stop himself. The whole thing was ridiculous, the way that he wanted Peter, asshole or not. 

 

He had apparently summoned the man himself by thought alone, because he strode into the bar looking disgustingly attractive. His hair was curling slightly around his ears and across his forehead due to the humidity of the downtown late at night, and his jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulder. He was dressed in a dark blue button up that complimented his eyes, and black jeans. He spotted their group and walked over, sitting down next to Hoffman. “You gonna start a bar fight if I admit that I’m surprised you came?” He teased before ordering a drank.

 

“No, I wouldn’t ruin your reputation by showing the rest of the department how easily you’d lose.”

 

“Ouch, that one stung, Mark darling.” Peter drawled in response, grinning as he ordered a drink and lifted it.

 

“Sorry, I forget you’re fragile, Petey dear.” He returned, barely even thinking about it. 

 

He tried to forget about the fact he wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Strahm, since he never showed up. It was such a waste of time. But earlier, when Strahm had asked him, or not asked him really, it played on his pride enough to actually make him blurt out a yes. “Drinks tonight, Hoffman.” Peter had announced, walking past his desk. “I’ll tell the others that you’re busy.”

 

“Excuse you.”

 

“What? You never turn up.” Strahm replied, carelessly. Well, that was true, but the offhanded way that Peter just assumed he wasn’t going annoyed him. “I’m coming, asshole. What time?” Any decent person would conceal their surprise, but this was Peter Strahm, so he obviously pretended to have a heart attack. “All this time, you made me believe that you were allergic to socialising?!” He smirked.

 

“Dick.” 

 

So here he was, wishing he was at home. (Preferably with Strahm, but he refused to focus on that detail). At least the alcohol was good. He watched Peter interact with the other agents, slightly envious of his easy speech and humour, the way he seemed to be actually interested in what they had to say. His eyes lit up at the story Mark had to work so hard to pretend to enjoy, and Peter groaned. “Aw, c’mon. You get a sewage chase and a scar and all I got was desk duty? This sucks ass.” Not that it was a surprise, but it was still great to know how much Strahm despised being stuck with him for the day. 

 

“You seemed in a decent mood, Peter.” Erickson pointed out.

 

“Ah, only ‘cause I had Hoffman to annoy.” He snickered, “Best part of my day.” Mark glared at him over his drink, and rolled his eyes. “You’ve got competition for your reports too.” He continued to Erickson, “I read Mark’s and --” He didn’t get to finish his sentence fucking again because his eyes widened. He whistled and Hoffman followed his gaze to the doorway of the bar where his investigative partner Lindsey had walked in.

 

Peter ordered a drink as she sat down, and she smiled at him, clearly amused by the way he knew what to order. “Well, I feel underdressed, Lindsey.” Peter told her charmingly, gesturing to her dress, “Someone you’re trying to impress?” He teased.

 

“Oh, you wish.” She retorted.

 

“Not even a little bit?”

 

“Oh, so I’m trying to impress someone, huh? Wanna tell us why you’re wearing that shirt just to bring out your eyes and impress --”

 

“Shh, shh, okay. Ceasefire, jeez.” Peter cut her off quickly, looking panicked. 

 

Hoffman took a long drink, trying to wash away the bitter taste of jealously. “Get a room you two.” He ordered, and the others snickered. Peter made a kissy face at Lindsey. 

 

“What d’you say --”

 

“God, shut up, Peter.” She interrupted fondly before he could even finish his sentence. Hoffman scowled and downed his drink. Peter bent over his own glass laughing, pushing his hair out of his eyes and then scanning the bar. “C’mon, darts?” He suggested, “Losing team buys drinks for the rest of the night.” He added, raising the stakes with a grin. Tapp and Sing looked at each other right away, the natural reaction of years of partnership probably. Mark rolled his eyes, but he caught Peter staring right at him.

 

“You want a picture, Strahm?” He demanded, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“Nah, I already stalked you and set one as my background.” Peter replied sarcastically, before hesitating. “You and me, Hoffman? Only if you’re good that is.” He smirked at him, but he seemed unsure beneath that. Mark’s heart rate sped up, and what the fuck was that about? He wasn’t an eleven year old girl. He hadn’t answered, mainly out of shock but he realised how harsh it came off.

 

“Aw, no way! I bagsie Peter, he’s creepily good at darts!” Lindsey butt in before he could even respond and he felt a wave of hatred for her crash over him. Peter rolled his eyes, looking slightly embarrassed - clearly regretting his decision to even ask. Mark felt a surge of regret, wishing he’d been just a little faster. 

 

As he watched Lindsey tug Peter by the hand to the line in front of the dartboard, he was practically green with envy. That could’ve been him for fuck’s sake. “You know, I think you just might’ve hurt his feelings.” Erickson said from behind him, and he was only half joking.

 

“Please, he hates me.” Mark retorted.

 

“Maybe.” Erickson replied, humouring him. 

 

Everyone gathered over to the dartboard, and Hoffman was definitely not jealous of how Peter’s darts found the bullseye every time, how Lindsey hugged him when they won, and how everyone praised him. It was sickening. 

 

3

 

Down the road from the station sat a nice gym, expensive equipment, nice workers and big halls that the police could rent out when they were training recruits. It was also useful for the normal officers too, when they had free time and wanted to make sure their skills were up to scratch. Hoffman, Matthews and Strahm were in the gym currently. Like a normal person, Mark was on the punching bags.

 

Mathews and Strahm however, were being utterly ridiculous in the makeshift boxing ring. “Come on. Erik, I know you can do better than that!” Peter taunted, ducking a punch. 

 

“I’m going easy on you, Peter.” Was the reply, accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders and a leg sweep that took Strahm down while he was still acting cocky. “Ouch, bastard.” Peter swore lazily from the ground. Erik smirked and held out a hand, which Peter took without a second thought.

 

It made Mark’s blood boil.

 

When he was back on his feet, Peter let go and stepped back, his fists coming up in front of his face once more. Erik tried a punch, but Strahm caught his arm and twisted it, forcing Mathews onto his knees. Mark was pretty sure he was staring with his mouth open, so he quickly looked away. 

 

Peter laughed and helped Erik up, who mock scowled. “Son of a bitch.”

 

“You love me, shut up, Erik.”

 

“Hm, maybe. But not for long if you keep embarrassing me.”

 

“Ouch, you break my heart.”

 

“I’ll kiss it better when we’re done fighting.” Mathews promised with a wide smirk, and Mark whipped around at that point, close to snapping. He was completely sure that if Erik even tried to touch Strahm he was going to break his nose.

 

Peter snorted and punched him in the shoulder good naturedly, and Mark grit his teeth, forcing himself to look back at the punching bag in front of him. And if he imagined a certain someone instead of the bag, who was around to know?

 

The two men in the ring parted ways, Erik checking his phone and Strahm ducking out of the ring to grab his drink. Hoffman scowled at how he actually managed to look good with damp hair that was carelessly swept out of his eyes, a flush over his cheeks and a little out of breath. What a jerk. He tilted his head back and downed half of the water bottle, shaking his hand out and re-wrapping the bandages on his knuckles.

 

Mark watched subtly as he stilled the boxing bag, briefly imagining just walking over and asking if he wanted to practice with him for a while. The thought was quickly dismissed. It seemed like Peter had been avoiding him a little since a few nights ago at the bar when Mark had accidentally dismissed him so carelessly with his silence.

 

It made his jealously even more bitter, because he felt that Peter really had given him the offer of a friendship, and he’d thrown it away like an idiot by accident, and Strahm had clearly taken it the wrong way - not realising that Mark wasn’t being an asshole like usual, he was being a fucking dumbass.

 

“Come on, Strahm! If you make me late to pick Daniel up, I’ll never practice with you again!” Erik called over the room. Peter didn’t protest, standing up and walking over to the ring. 

 

“I’m happy for you man, how’s it going?”

 

“Better.” 

 

The subject of conversation could’ve been about anything, but Mark had eavesdropped enough to know it was about Erik’s son Daniel. They had hit a rough patch and grown apart a year ago, but under Peter’s advice, Erik had been doing everything he could to fix their relationship.

 

“He’s your only son, Erik. Don’t let it be like this.” He’d heard Strahm say to him, “You’re older, supposed to be more mature. Reach out to him, I’m serious.” And then, because it was Peter they were talking about, he had to add, “Don’t be a dick, honestly Erik.” 

 

It made Hoffman scowl when Erik came running in, with a harassed sounding, “Peter, his birthday is coming up!” Or, “Peter, he wants to come to mine for Christmas this year!” Whatever it was, Strahm followed him without question, a hand on his shoulder and kind words on his lips. 

 

They started to fight again, exchanging quips as they practiced moves, giving out criticism and advice when the other made a bad move in the blunt tone that could only be used with very good friends. After a while, Peter pointed out he should probably head out soon. Matthews checked his watch and agreed, ducking under the ring with Peter close behind him. They embraced, and Mark slammed the punching bag so hard that it swung dangerously, the chain that was holding it up creaking a little.

 

“See you around, dumbass.”

 

“Coffee tomorrow, Peter, I’ll tell you how it goes.”

 

“Sure, sure, get out of here.” Strahm ordered, rolling his eyes. Erik left, fucking finally in Hoffman’s opinion, and Peter started gathering his things. Mark was so focused on acting like he didn’t care, that he hardly noticed Peter sneak up behind him and tap his shoulder. “Hey Hoffman, feet further apart for better balance.”

 

“Fuck off, Strahm.” He growled, but placed his feet further apart from one another and suddenly found it easier to step forward when he punched. “You’re welcome.” Strahm replied, and Mark could hear the smirk in his voice.

 

Peter turned and strode away, but Mark could tell he heard, by the way he stopped for a moment, when Hoffman muttered. 

 

“Thanks, you dick.”

 

4

 

Alison Kerry was a bitch.

 

Hoffman’s opinion was based on one thing and one thing only.

 

She baked.

 

He was ninety percent sure that Alison could kill him with a paperclip, but she had a secret baking hobby, which Peter found out about. Thinking about the circumstances under which Strahm was around to discover that fact made him irritable all day, so he tried to avoid it.

 

However he found out, he knew. And once a week, usually a Monday when she’d been free over the weekend, she slipped into their office area, asking around for Peter. He’d come soon enough, and Hoffman would watch with jealous eyes over his computer as he hugged her, and told her she was his favourite person in the world.

 

He lit up like a puppy catching sight of a tennis ball when he noticed the doughnuts on his desk, or the muffins she carried into the briefing and placed in his lap. He wasn’t the only one looking jealous - though he assumed that the other officers were more jealous of the fact Peter had blueberry muffins and they didn’t, rather than the fact fucking Alison was getting more praise than God himself.

 

It was worse since he knew that he couldn’t bake or cook to save his life; he literally lived on the most simple meals he could possibly find recipes for on the internet. If in some unimaginable alternate reality, he actually got Peter not to hate him as much as he did currently, every partner looked for someone who could cook. He wondered about Peter’s own abilities. He was clearly healthy, which heavily suggested a good diet to say the least. 

 

Eyes narrowed, he watched as Peter devoured a pastry like a starving man, mumbling, “Marry me... Jesus... this is beauty and life…” With his mouth half open, and honestly it was getting to the point where Mark was just mad at himself for finding that endearing and funny rather than disgusting. He was definitely too far gone for Strahm, and he wished he could just hate the guy. He was such an arrogant dick too, it didn’t even make sense.

 

Rolling his eyes, Mark threw a pen as hard as he could towards Peter’s head, smirking when it bounced off his chest. Not his face, but close enough. Being Strahm, he caught it once it hit him and bounced back, catching it in one hand and scowling. “Jealous?” He teased, taking an obnoxiously large bite. It felt indescribably good to be able to growl out an angry, “Yes.” And not arise any suspicion. Peter still looked vaguely surprised, since it was still a little unusual for Hoffman to even admit the slightest little thing. 

 

Peter grinned and picked up the brown paper bag he received his weekly bake in, shaking it gently. “I’ve still got one. You’re clearly dying of starvation if you admit to be jealous over my bake.” He pointed out, throwing it across the room. Mark barely caught it out of surprise, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“What’d you put in it, dickwad?”

 

“Cocaine.” And only fucking Strahm would say something like that while he was literally sitting in a police station.

 

“My favourite.” He drawled in response, making Peter laugh in delight. He hadn’t actually eaten today, otherwise he never would’ve accepted that woman’s pastry. He bit into it, and had to stop himself from scowling since it was actually delicious.

 

“Isn’t it incredible?” Peter said enthusiastically, shoving the last of his croissant into his mouth and licking his fingers like a five year old, “Best bakes I’ve ever eaten.” He added sincerely, even though Alison was already gone. Mark replied with a non-committal sound in the back of his throat, crumpling the paper bag and throwing it at the other.

 

Peter caught it carelessly and threw it into the bin in the very corner of the room, a practiced move. 

 

“Asshole.” Hoffman scoffed, rolling his eyes.

 

“Talented.” Peter corrected with a shrug.

 

Peter put a hand on his stomach and groaned, “Ugh, I want another.” He moaned, laying back on his desk and kicking a cup of pens onto the floor uncaringly. “They’re so good.” He murmured, and Hoffman rolled his eyes.

 

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? It’s just a pastry.” 

 

“Did you just --” Peter spluttered, bolting up and looking shocked, “Just a pastry? Are you crazy? Those bakes are the best, man! Best part of my week! God, imagine eating like that every day.” He sighed and closed his eyes. Probably imagining his stupid fucking life with Alison now. 

 

“Shut the fuck up if you’re going to talk like a crushing schoolgirl.” Mark sneered, and Peter just laughed at him.

 

“You’re just jealous. Honestly Mark, get a dog if you’re so lonely.” 

 

That was a little harsh, but he guessed he started it. “Go fuck yourself.”

 

“Well, that’s rude.” Peter said, mock hurt.

 

“Shut up.” Mark snapped, relieved when Peter actually did shut his fucking mouth for once and slid off the table to pick up the pens that he had kicked everywhere. 

 

5

 

Mark Hoffman had thought that what made him most jealous was someone making Peter feel so good that Peter acted like he loved them.

 

Mark Hoffman was wrong. 

 

The worst thing was most definitely when everyone was doing it, giving him every bit of attention and care and Strahm was loving every second of it. It was driving him crazy.

 

“Happy Birthday, Peter!” Yet another person stepped into the office to call to him, and he looked up from his desk, a pile of presents on the right hand side. Despite this being what must be the thirtieth time someone had said that to him today, he still lit up like a puppy dog and beamed at them. “Thanks, man!” He scribbled down something else on his form. It was the afternoon, and he was sporting a cut on his cheek that he was far too proud of. He’d been out on the field today and tackled a guy with a knife. What a fucking hero.

 

Everyone else had been all happy about it, so of course it was Hoffman’s job to yank him aside by the sleeve and hiss, “You fucking idiot, you could’ve been fucking stabbed. You didn’t think to wait until I had a gun on him?” He snapped. Peter smirked. 

 

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared.” He teased, dragging a sleeve across his bleeding cheek, making a smudge. Hoffman just scowled and grabbed the first aid kit, throwing it at him with an unjustified force. He still caught it, but he had to step back quickly. “Gee, thanks, Hoffman.” He drawled, digging around until he found a bandage. “Best birthday present I’ve had all day.” 

 

“Shut up.” Hoffman growled back. Peter shrugged and ran a finger over his cut to assess where it was, peeling a bandaid. Hoffman rolled his eyes and stepped forwards, grabbing the bandage and a wipe, running the wipe over the cut. Strahm winced at the antiseptic and tensed while Mark soothed a band aid over it. 

 

Watching him warily, Peter stayed there for a moment before he stepped back. “Thanks, I guess.” Hoffman scoffed and turned.

 

“Happy Birthday, dickwad!” He called over his shoulder as he walked away. He didn’t turn around and see how Peter stared after him, one hand moving up to hover above where Hoffman had touched his cheek. 

 

The guy in the doorway didn’t stick around to chat, thank God, and he actually got a minute to work before someone turned off the fucking lights. “What the fu--” His complaint was cut off by the group chorus of ‘Happy Birthday To You’ that erupted in the room. 

 

Alison brought forward a cake, which admittedly looked amazing, and set it in front of him, the candlelight flickering on Peter’s face making Mark’s breath catch. When the singing reached it’s last, out-of-tune note, Peter blew out all of the candles with a stupid grin on his face, looking around at the amused officers around him, eyes shining with gratitude.

 

“Thanks, everyone.” He said, and it was so earnest that it made Hoffman want to throw up in his mouth. After slicing the cake, people finally got back to their actual job. Looking determinedly downwards while Peter finished his cake, he only looked up again when someone placed something on his desk. “Thanks for cleaning my cut.” Peter thanked him fairly and gestured to the cake on his desk.

 

“You’ve already ripped the bandaid off.”

 

“It was itchy.”

 

“You’re such a child.”

 

“I’m actually officially thirty three so suck it.”

 

“What about mentally?”

 

“Shut up and eat your fucking cake.”

 

Mark smirked and did as he was told, taking a bite of the cake and nodding his approval. “Thanks, I guess.” 

 

“Are you gonna come with us tonight?”

 

“Where to?”

 

“Team’s taking me out for today.” 

 

“Ugh, no thanks.” 

 

Peter looked confused. “Aw c’mon, hate me that much?”

 

“Hate watching people fawn over you.” Hoffman replied bitterly before realising what he said and feeling a spike of embarrassment. 

 

“Hm, careful, Hoffman. You’re starting to sound jealous.” Peter sing songed. 

 

“Shut up.” Mark sighed, reflecting how often he said that because of Strahm. He ignored the fact that Peter was still standing there and turned back to his work, “Don’t you have work to do?” He added, rolling his eyes. 

 

“It’s my birthday.” Peter pouted. 

 

“Oh, whup tee do. Attention all criminals, stop right there because it’s Peter’s birthday!” He replied sarcastically. 

 

“Fair point.” Strahm conceded, though he still looked put out, “But you called me Peter.” He added smugly after a moment. Hoffman scowled, definitely not having said his first name intentionally. Before he could make an excuse, Peter was already walking away and talking to someone else. 

 

Surely, it couldn’t have got worse for him, but it did. Because Erik fucking Mathews walked in with a carrier in one hand with a bow on it, and a stupid grin. “Heya, Peter. Did I miss the cake?” Mark froze as he watched Erik set the carrier down just in time before he got two armfuls of a delighted Peter Strahm. “You remembered! You dick, you made me think on purpose you’d forgotten.” He whined, hugging his friend tightly. Hoffman felt like storming over there and punching Erik and whatever stupid gift he bought into next week. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, might’ve done.” Erik admitted cheekily, and Mark clenched his fists as he kept an arm around Peter’s waist. “But I got you the best present, so am I forgiven?” Peter’s eyes automatically flicked to the carrier. 

 

“I swear if there’s a fucking raccoon in there or something --” Peter started, way too used to Erik’s pranks but Mathews clamped a hand over his mouth, and picked up the carrier, pushing it into Peter’s hand.

 

Then, the carrier barked. 

 

Peter gasped and dropped to his knees with the carrier, pulling the door open. Stumbling out came a little German Shepard. “Someone’s dog had pups in the training department for these little guys, and she had too many for them to handle really, so I figured Peter might be lonely enough, right? So…” He trailed off, and it was the first time Mark had ever seen the guy nervous.

 

He couldn’t gage Peter’s reaction because his head was bent down, cradling the puppy in his arms while it squirmed happily and licked at him. 

 

“Dude, I can give it back if it’s too much responsibility and all that.” Erik assured him, crouching down so that he could see Peter’s face. 

 

“Erik?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you, man.”

 

“I know.” 

 

Peter laughed loudly and checked his watch. “God, he’s so cute. I guess I’ll take him to the dog department to play there for a while; Erickson will shoot me if he finds a dog playing in here.” 

 

Mark was speechless. You couldn’t just fucking go around and tell people that you loved them! He glared at the two of them so hard that they actually felt it and turned to look at him. He looked away as fast as possible, and luckily got away with it. 

 

“Well, I feel neglected, how come he gets hugs?” Alison teased.

 

And yeah, Mark might’ve been thinking the same fucking thing, but he sure as Hell wasn’t allowed to say it outloud. 

 

Peter laughed and stood, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Satisfied? And thank you for the cake.” Alison shoved him back. “Keep your kisses for --” Strahm went from playful to deadly in a second, hand over her mouth. “I swear, never again in my life will I tell you a single detail about my love life if you insist on attempting to share it with the entire fucking station.” He growled. Alison just rolled her eyes and tapped him twice, and he immediately let go and stepped away, looking smug.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Just because you’re a wimp and won’t bloody tell him.” 

 

Hoffman shot up in his seat. Unless he was wrong, and he most definitely fucking wasn’t, Alison had said ‘he’. He. Hoffman was torn between exploding with excitement and jealousy; on the one hand, Peter liked guys. At some point, somewhere, it could be vaguely possible for him to date Peter. On the other, he was clearly interested in some other fucking guy who didn’t give him band aids and an insult for his birthday. He couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mentally punch the lights out of that stupid guy. 

 

With a sigh of relief he looked at the clock and realised he could go home, completely sick of Peter’s Goddamn birthday party. 

 

+1

 

“I just don’t understand.” Peter stressed again, his face an adorable mixture of puzzled and curious as he stared at Hoffman, who was trying his hardest to ignore the idiot and carry on with his work. 

 

“And I don’t understand why you won’t fuck off. It’s a confusing world.” He grit out, staring determinedly at his computer screen. 

 

“But… But we should celebrate!” Peter protested.

 

“Just because you wanted the world bowing down to you on your birthday, doesn’t mean everyone else wants all of that unnecessary shit.” Mark pointed out in return, finally giving up on pretending he wasn’t interested and looked up, meeting the slightly anxious blue eyes that were watching him.

 

“I could just --”

 

“I swear to God, if you try and organise fucking anything for my birthday, I’m never, ever going to acknowledge your existence.” He paused to fight a smile from his face. “And who would you annoy then, Strahm?”

 

“C’mon…” Peter whined. He opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something else but changed his mind at the last second. He nodded and turned, walking over to his desk. “If you want to do something, tell me.”

 

Thankfully, he dropped it after that. 

 

Hoffman had no clue how Peter had actually found out that his birthday was the next day, but after watching Strahm’s birthday he was determined to do nothing. It made him jealous, all of the attention that the other man received while he was made to watch. Additionally, he hadn’t celebrated that crap for years and he wasn’t about to start now. 

 

Peter retreated to his desk, but kept throwing him meaningful glances over his computer monitor every five fucking seconds, and then smiling when Hoffman glared in his direction. Stupid asshole. He knew what he actually wanted, which was Strahm to pay attention to him all day, but he’d die before asking for that. Maybe he’d die if he asked any way, from Peter beating him to Hell.

 

When the end of the day finally came around, it was a huge relief, since he honestly couldn’t handle that Goddamn gaze for one more minute. He pulled on his coat and left, heading down the steps and -

 

“Hoffman!” Peter stood by a lamp post, looking excited. 

 

“Fuck off.” He replied carelessly, trying to calculate the fastest way to escape. Sure, Peter annoyed him constantly at the station, but this was the first time the bastard had actually taken the time to wait for him outside and aggravate him further. Did the asshole seriously not have anything better to do with his life than stand around and piss him off?

 

“Have you decided what you want to do tomorrow?” Peter asked, undeterred by the harsh response. 

 

Mark closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath, deciding to get him to fuck the Hell off once and for all. “Yeah.” He answered, striding over to where he was standing and gripping the collar of Peter’s coat. “Tomorrow, you’re not gonna annoy me. You’re not gonna tell fucking anyone that it’s my birthday, and after we get off work, you’re gonna wait here and take me out to dinner.” He stated.

 

To his surprise, Peter grinned and nodded. “Sure, but I kind of already told --” Mark cut him off with a kiss, a furious one, but it softened quickly when Peter placed his hands reassuringly on his shoulders and kissed him back. Hoffman hadn’t ever been this confused in his life, but he couldn’t even attempt to try and comprehend why the Hell Strahm was kissing him back since his head wasn’t functioning properly. Eventually, he pulled back to breathe and stared at Peter, speechless, who just looked smug as usual. “Hey, I finally broke you.” He teased.

 

“You’re a dick.” Hoffman managed. 

 

“You act like you hadn’t noticed.”

 

Head still reeling, Mark turned around and retreated to his car, trying to jumpstart his thoughts into working out what the fuck was going on. He kissed Strahm. Strahm kissed back. They had a date. Probably. Was that a date? He felt ridiculous, thinking like a highschool girl. 

 

But it didn’t matter. For the first time he could even remember, Mark was completely, truly happy, and there wasn’t a trace of jealousy in his body.


End file.
